


let you win my heart again

by elizaham8957



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, ENJOY IT, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Stiles is missing a toe, also if you're a fan of Jackson you probably shouldn't read this, also this is the closest I'm ever gonna get to writing smut so, but also angst?, don't mind me trying to fix everything 6b screwed up, it's barely any angst, post 6b, very minor angst I mean like do you know me at all by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: It seems like they defeated the Anuk-ite a lifetime ago, despite the fact that it has only been a few hours.Being with Stiles is like that— the universe fades out, the outside world becomes irrelevant, and time seems to slide by unprohibited. Lydia is perfectly willing to let it happen, instead cherishing every second she can spend wrapped up in Stiles’s arms before he has to go back to Virginia and she has to go to Boston.“Did you get registration figured out?” Stiles asks, kissing her hair. She nods against his chest, comfortably nestled into his lap as he leans back against the headboard of her bed.“Apparently the fact that I have an IQ of 170 was enough for them to let me register late,” she says, her head tucked under his chin. “I claimed I had a family emergency.”“I guess that’s one way to put it,” Stiles says, raising his eyebrows.





	let you win my heart again

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's writing fic instead of doing her homework again? If you guessed me, you're very correct. 
> 
> Someone sent me a LOVELY prompt on Tumblr about Stiles complaining about his toe getting shot off and Lydia, without thinking, goes "I got shot and you don't see ME complaining," prompting him to freak out because she got shot and no one told him. This, um... escalated, though. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> I'm gonna take a little break from writing all these quick one shots now to focus on the Pas de Deux sequel (that is ALMOST FINISHED) but I thought I'd try my hand at fixing the finale first. I hope you like it!! I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you ever wanna talk.

It seems like they defeated the Anuk-ite a lifetime ago, despite the fact that it has only been a few hours.  

Being with Stiles is like that— the universe fades out, the outside world becomes irrelevant, and time seems to slide by unprohibited. Lydia is perfectly willing to let it happen, instead cherishing every second she can spend wrapped up in Stiles’s arms before he has to go back to Virginia and she has to go to Boston.

“Did you get registration figured out?” Stiles asks, kissing her hair. She nods against his chest, comfortably nestled into his lap as he leans back against the headboard of her bed.

“Apparently the fact that I have an IQ of 170 was enough for them to let me register late,” she says, her head tucked under his chin. “I claimed I had a family emergency.”

“I guess that’s one way to put it,” Stiles says, raising his eyebrows. His arms circle around her, pulling her in closer, and she runs a hand up his chest, resting on his shoulders. The muscle underneath her hand is broad and firm— it had been harder to notice with his flannel on, but now that he is just in a t-shirt— his newfound toned physique has _not_ gone unnoticed by her. Whatever workout regimen the FBI is putting him through, she is appreciative.

“Did you mention that your family emergency was fighting off a fear demon that turned half the people you know into stone?” he asks, his thumb drawing patterns on the side of her torso where his hand rests, warm and heavy. Lydia laughs at that, shaking her head slightly.

 _“No._ I left that part out.”

“Probably a good idea.”

She hums in agreement, her head still on his chest, the comfortable silence washing over them. As much as she had feared something would happen, as much as she had desperately wanted to protect Stiles from the dangers of this town, she is beyond grateful he’s back now, safe and solid beneath her, his heartbeat echoing in her ear. There is nothing quite comparable to her boyfriend being _here,_ with her. Even with daily texts and silly snapchats and skype conversations that last for hours into the night, being away from him all summer has been harder than she would have ever thought possible. Her head resting against his chest now, she is reminded of something Allison had said to her, in what seems like a completely different lifetime.

 _Remember what it feels like. All those times in school when you see him standing down the hall, and you cannot breathe until you’re with him. Don’t you remember what that’s like?_ Allison had asked, and Lydia had told her no, because she _hadn’t_ known what that was like.

But now, with Stiles, she’s starting to understand. Understand how much she can depend on one singular person, understand how deeply she can care for someone. It’s a feeling she’s never had before, the feeling of being completely, utterly bound to someone, and normally it would scare the hell out of her. Feelings that deep about Jackson or Aiden would have terrified her, but she can’t find it in herself to be afraid at all now. Stiles is different than anyone she has ever been with in her life— no matter what, he’s always there, constant and steady, right behind her wherever she goes. It’s something that never stood for her past boyfriends— no one has ever run after her like Stiles does, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him. Stiles protects her and cares for her the way no one else ever has, and the monumental nature of that should scare her, but it doesn’t. It just somehow _feels_ right with him.

Which forces her to remember something else from earlier today: _Jackson._

“Stiles,” she says, her chest suddenly filling with dread thinking about their reunion earlier. Thinking of Stiles’s reaction.

“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head down to meet her eyes. His expression is so soft, like he still can’t really believe they’re together again. She’s pretty sure she’s been looking at him the same way all night.

“I’m sorry for the whole thing with… Jackson,” she says, already prepared for when his body stiffens below her. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t know why I ran into his arms like that.” She sighs, meeting her boyfriend’s eyes. “I don’t think I was so relieved to see _him_ as I was to just see that he was _alive.”_ She worried her lip, hoping she’s explaining this right. “I was just glad I wasn’t too late to save another person whose death I predicted.”

“I know,” Stiles says automatically, and she can hear it in his voice, that he understands. He really is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or jealous, or—” she says, but Stiles cuts her off.

“I wasn’t jealous,” he tells her truthfully. “I— you know why I don’t like him, Lydia. And it’s not because he used to yell at me on the lacrosse field, or because he was a homicidal lizard for a while.”  

She turns in his lap so that she can look directly in his eyes, rearranging her legs so that she is straddling his thighs, their chests inches apart. Her nose almost brushes his as she looks at him head-on, her eyes meeting his.

“I know,” she responds. “I used to love him, and I used to think I deserved to be with him. But everything he put me through—” she shakes her head, just some of the phrases he’d aimed at her running through her mind. _I’m eliminating some of the dead weight in my life, and you’re just about the deadest. You ruined this for me, like you ruin everything._

“He wasn’t a good person,” she finishes decisively. “I don’t know if he’s changed now, but the way he treated me—” she shakes her head. “I didn’t deserve that.” She pauses, and her voice is softer when she says, “You taught me that.”

“No,” Stiles says, his voice just as gentle, and his eyes are like gold. “You taught yourself that. I just reminded you when you forgot.”

“I love you,” she tells him, resting her forehead against his. “I love you more that I’ve ever loved anyone.”

“I love you too, Lyds,” he murmurs, nudging her nose with his. “I love you so damn much.”

She grins as she leans in, unable to take this distance between them anymore, capturing his lips with hers. Stiles smiles as well, and she laughs into his mouth as he kisses her, happy and warm and so, so right.

Stiles’s hands splay across her whole back, his touch burning through the thin fabric of her shirt. He pulls away from her mouth, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, before peppering kisses across her jawline and down her neck. Lydia laughs as he nuzzles at her collarbone, and when he kisses her sternum, his lips lingering there reverently, her stomach flutters. She still can’t get over the fact that Stiles can make her feel like a lovesick fool with a single kiss, but she wouldn’t really want it any other way, if she’s being honest.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she tells him, arching back into his hands as he works his way up her neck again, finally making it back to her lips. “I was so worried about losing you again,” she admits when she pulls away to breathe, but he chases after her lips, his eyes warm with wanting as he tries to kiss her again. She lets him, before pulling away again, resting her forehead against his, and she can practically hear her heart pounding. “That’s why I never said anything.” Stiles pauses, his nose brushing hers. “I was so scared that I’d lose you for good.”

“I get it,” he says, his voice so full of emotion. “I’d feel the same.” He pauses, kissing her again. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still kind of pissed you guys didn’t tell me what was going on,” he adds, looking her in the eye. “But I understand _why,_ I guess.”

“You have a habit of finding trouble anyways,” Lydia says, raising an eyebrow. “I leave you alone in Virginia, thinking you’re safe at your internship, and you convince the FBI to bring you on an extremely dangerous _field mission.”_

“See, this is exactly why you should have called me here immediately,” he says, tone teasing as he captures her lips with his again. He pulls away suddenly, eyes wide. _“Lydia,”_ he starts, voice suddenly serious. “If you had told me, I would have been here and I would not be without a _toe.”_

Lydia groans, dropping her head forward onto his shoulder, barely able to contain her laughter. “Oh my _god,_ Stiles.” She has seen his foot, and while his toe is certainly missing, it’s barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it. The bullet must have just caught the edge of his shoe or something, because it just looks like his pinkie toe is curled under the rest of his foot.

“What?” he demands, his body shaking with laughter. “I suffered a serious casualty, okay? I only have nine toes now!”

“You are _so dramatic,”_ she tells him.

“I don’t see how this is being dramatic,” he insists. “I was _shot,_ okay?”

She laughs at him again, shaking her head. _“I_ got shot, and you don’t see _me_ complaining,” she points out, but Stiles’s smile immediately disappears, his eyes going wide, and Lydia’s breath catches, her body going still as she realizes exactly what she just said.

 _“What?”_ Stiles says, voice impossibly low, and Lydia shakes her head slightly, cursing herself for saying that. Obviously she was going to tell him, but not like this, and not _now._

“What do you mean, you got shot?” Stiles asks. “Like, you seriously were _shot?”_

“Yes,” she admits, biting her lip. “But I’m okay. It’s fine now, it’s healing— it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s—” Stiles shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “How is that not a big deal?” He exhales shortly, and Lydia can see that he’s pissed, though his voice is a little panicky. “You were _shot._ And you didn’t tell me? What the _fuck,_ Lydia?”

“Stiles,” she says, trying to calm him down. “It’s fine. The surgeon said that it missed everything important, and—”

“That doesn’t _matter,_ okay? I—” he has to pause again, running a hand over his chin.  “You were shot, you were in the hospital and you had surgery and _no one_ told me?”

“We didn’t want you to come back, and we knew you would,” she says. Stiles’s eyes light up angrily, but Lydia can see the concern below the aggravation.

“You bet your ass I would! There’s a line, okay— I know you all wanted to keep me safe,” he admits. “But you’re my _girlfriend,_ Lydia. And I _love_ you and _care_ about you, and you can’t just _keep_ stuff like that from me!”

“I couldn’t lose you again, Stiles!” she snaps, her words desperate. “Okay? I couldn’t risk that by having you come back here.”

“I can’t lose you either, Lydia,” he tells her, his voice broken. “Do you remember the first time you ever came to my house? Right before the final battle with the kanima, and Gerard?”

She nods slowly, knowing where he is going, because the words he spoke to her that day will always be burned into her memory. That was the first day that she fully realized how much he cared about her. And it had shocked her, to find out that a person was that concerned whether she lived or died. Her whole life had seemed like some sort of elaborate spectacle, up until then, surrounded by pretty people with pretty smiles masking how little they cared about her. But Stiles had let her into his room and told her with such heated passion that her life mattered to him, and she had been utterly and completely taken aback.

“If you die, I would literally go out of my freaking mind,” he quotes back to her, drawing nearer, resting his forehead on hers again, his eyes sliding closed. “I still would, okay? I— I don’t know what I would do if something like that happened to you. I don’t know how I would keep going, Lydia.”

“I know,” she tells him, voice quiet, because she has never understood Stiles’s words to her more than she does now, after he was erased from her memory and she spent _months_ trying to convince herself that he was real. “I know, Stiles, because I feel the same.”

He sighs, his nose still brushing hers, and she can feel his shoulders sort of sag in acceptance. “No more secrets like that,” he tells her, his voice begging. “Please.”

“No more,” she agrees, nodding slightly. He opens his eyes and meets hers, his expression almost heartbroken.

“Can I see?” he asks quietly, drawing back from her a little bit, and his eyes are so imploring that she nods. Lydia’s fingers find the hem of her loose shirt, lifting it up enough to expose the raw red scar, still with stitches in it, freshly healing. She hears Stiles’s sharp intake of breath, can feel him stiffen underneath her at the sight of the bullet wound. It’s right below her ribs, on the opposite side from the long, jagged gashes left from Peter’s attack on the lacrosse field. His breath catches again as he shifts his weight, hesitantly resting his hand on her stomach, running the pad of his thumb over the rough skin. She shivers at his touch, this moment between them heavy as Stiles studies the neat line of stitches keeping the hole in her torso held together.

“Jesus, Lydia,” he finally says, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I…” he trails off, not sure what else to say. Lydia knows what he means, though, and she doesn’t need to hear him say it. Instead, she leans into him again, pressing her lips to his, filled with the sudden necessity to just _be_ with Stiles. Because he’s _here,_ this boy that she loves more than she ever thought was possible to love one person.  

He kisses her harder this time, almost desperately, like he’s trying to remind himself that she’s okay. His hands roam from her torso to her back, his thumbs brushing over the band of her bra as his fingers splay across her skin. Lydia groans softly into his mouth, her elbows resting on his shoulders as she sinks her fingers into his hair, and she— _god,_ she has missed him so much.

Stiles’s hands find the hem of her shirt, and she pulls away from him briefly so that he can pull it over her head, leaving her in just her bra and the little sleep shorts she’d put on when they’d returned from the school. His eyes roam over her body hungrily, his expression warm and wanting, before pausing on her scars again. Her body is a constant reminder of all the trials they have been through— bite marks from Peter, a jagged slash above her belly button from Tracy’s tail, and now the bullet wound, redder than the rest. Lydia is generally fairly self-conscious of her scars, always careful that they’re hidden beneath high waistlines or long tops, but she doesn’t feel that with Stiles. He knows every inch of her, inside and out, and he loves every single part of her. Her scars are a part of her story, reminders of everything she has gone through to make it to this moment here with him.

Stiles’s hands are warm on her bare skin as he flips her over, laying her down on her bed, and when she goes to lift his t-shirt over his head, he helps, tossing the fabric across the room haphazardly. Her hands smooth over his shoulders as he lowers his body over hers, her fingers pausing on the strange, rough scar from Donovan. Both of them are far from perfect, mosaics of the trials they’ve faced and the pain they’ve endured. But when Stiles looks at her, eyes soft and reverent and filled with wanting, she doesn’t feel marred. She feels perfect, trapped up in his eyes like this.

Lydia lifts her head to kiss him again, his lips warm and heavy against hers, the things he does with his mouth sending chills down her spine. He breaks away from her lips, peppering her jawline with kisses, sucking languidly on the base of her neck, and she gasps as his teeth brush against her skin. Stiles hums into her neck, tracing her collarbone with his mouth, dropping kisses along her sternum. Shivering at his touch, she rakes her nails against his back, his muscles flexing under her palms. Her knee bends subconsciously, her leg rising up as she presses her hips into his, and he groans softly, dropping his head to her chest.

“Stiles,” she murmurs, and she isn’t quite sure what she wants to say, just that she wants to say _something._ Let him know how he makes her feel, filling her with warmth and making the rest of the world fade out, become hazy and out of focus. Her chest expands, her heart thumping at how much she loves this boy who looks at her like she’s the entire goddamn universe. And she doesn’t know how to vocalize that, how to tell him that she never feels more complete than when he’s looking at her, but she wants to tell him.

“Mmm,” he hums, turning his head, still resting on her chest, to meet her eyes. His pupils are blown wide, and she can feel his heart beating against her bare skin, but the small, affectionate smile tugging at his mouth lets her know that he understands. He’s always been so good at that, knowing exactly what she means even when she herself isn’t sure what she wants to say. Stiles Stilinski understands her more than anyone else in her life ever has or ever will, and when he looks at her like he is now, eyes golden and smile adoring, she feels like she is truly home.

Stiles turns back to her body, his thumb gently brushing over her newest scar. He studies it for a second, almost contemplatively, before dropping a kiss to the healing wound, lips gentle as they linger there, his breath warm against her stomach. Slowly, he moves to her other scars, dotting them with feather-light kisses, and Lydia sinks her hands into his hair, shivering under his gentle touch. He finally reaches the scars from Peter, and the angry red is much more faded now, but the wide gashes still startle her when she sees them, still violently bring her back to dark, cloudy memories of a ruined silvery dress and cold night air as she laid on the lacrosse field, her blood spilling out into the dirt.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Stiles murmurs against the scars, kissing each one reverently, and those memories disappear, pushed out of her mind by the warmth of Stiles’s mouth on her skin.

He presses another kiss to her marred torso before sliding back up her body, capturing her lips with his. She smiles against them, tangling her legs with his, chasing after his lips when he pulls away from her. “I love you,” he murmurs against her lips, and she can feel his heart beating in sync with hers, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Lydia sighs into his touch, feeling happy and warm and _complete._

 _Remember what it feels like,_ Allison’s voice whispers in her head, and in that moment, Lydia _knows._


End file.
